Better You than Me
by writerofberk
Summary: "Oh, my god. Branch, my parents are parenting YOU." / Or the one where Cloud Guy calls Branch out, and Branch has a few dozen revelations. All extremely uncomfortable. Tag to 5x02. Slightly AU. Very silly, zero substance.


~ slightly AU, Cloud Guy's parents don't actually move in, just drop by a lot ~

* * *

" _You,"_ Cloud Guy says, proudly, like a little kid who's finally figured out how one plus one equals two, and wants to share it with everyone in the vicinity, "you _like_ this. Don't you?"

"Um." Branch is not, exactly, one-hundred-percent sure what's going on right now, or even how he wound up here in the first place, but objectively speaking, he's pretty positive that is not something he wants Cloud Guy to say to him, ever, especially when the stupid goofball has got him pinned to the bed. He shifts slightly, and the springs creak loudly beneath his back. "What?"

"You like _them_." And maybe Cloud Guy realizes the uncomfortable position he's put Branch in, because he leans back a little. "My parents."

" _Oh."_ Okay, _there_ it is—it's still not clear why the guy felt he couldn't say this until he dragged Branch into the bedroom and bolted the door behind them, but at least he's gotten to the point. Small miracles, and all of that. "Well." Branch has to think about it for a minute. A few months ago, he probably would have denied it to his dying breath because he had a reputation back then to keep up with, and that reputation had not included liking much of anyone, especially not two cheery little clouds who'd quite literally taken his bunker and his entire life by storm. But. Well. Things are different now. He can say it. If he wants to. "They—they mean well," he says, and leaves it at that.

Cloud Guy snorts. He rolls sideways off Branch, and down onto the mattress, his puffy, feather-light body barely making a dent in the soft covers. "You like them," he says, for what's got to be the millionth time since he hauled Branch in here.

Branch flicks his eyes heavenward. _Okay, we're done with this._ "Yes, thank you, we've established that, now can you—?"

"You like them," Cloud Guy spirals over onto his stomach to look at Branch in a strange and searching kind of way, like he's seeing absolutely everything, " _parenting_ you."

"I—" he doesn't remember, he doesn't know anymore what he was about to say, but it kind of doesn't even matter because the inside of his mouth has gone suddenly bone-dry and he can't seem to swallow and his tongue feels heavy and awkward and clumsy and he's about ninety-percent sure his face is about to catch fire, which is really stupid and makes no sense because this is—this is just—that is _not_ —

"I _don't_ —" he falters, noticeably, and Cloud Guy's mouth quirks up in one of his stupid, triumphant little smirks, and oh, God, everything is awful and he just wants to die. "—I d-don't—" he tries, again, and flounders just as spectacularly the second time. "I-I don't know," he manages, finally, and sits up on the bed, and puts on his best don't-mess-with-me glare, even though it's never, ever worked on Cloud Guy, ever, and it's also rapidly losing its effect on Poppy, too, which is unfortunate, "I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

Cloud Guy raises his eyebrows, the picture of politely bewildered incredulity. "Your face says otherwise."

Branch tries to scoff—he really, _really_ tries, but the furious blush has gone all the way to the tips of his ears at this point, and he knows the stupid sapphire flush is probably a damned beacon right now, even in the low light of the bunker, and all he can really manage is a small, shaky breath. It's about the farthest thing from a scoff. Ever. And he hates it. "Don't be ridiculous. They aren't—they aren't p-parenting me, or whatever," no, he does _not_ stutter, he does _not_ trip over the word, and that is just the beginning and the end of it, "they're—they're—"

But.

See.

Here's the thing.

They kind of _are_.

And there is no getting it past Cloud Guy. " _Branch_ ," he doesn't even bother with one of his annoying-but-admittedly-creative nicknames, "yesterday, Mom pulled me aside, and begged me to make sure you had a second helping of that casserole she brought over for dinner last night because she says you're too thin and she's worried you're not taking care of yourself."

And damn it all to hell, but the first thing Branch feels is _not_ absolute and unremitting indignation at the thought that he, utterly independent for a good ten years or so at this point, is somehow incapable of looking after himself, no, it's not that at all, it's—

Well.

It's.

It's kind of the complete and total opposite, because there's something suddenly warm and bright growing up inside his chest, this golden little glow, like the miniature flame on the end of a lit match, but the heat of it goes all the way through him, and that's. Okay. That's not good. That is—that is _not good_ , because he is _not supposed_ to feel good about this, at all, _ever_ , he's just—he's just _not_ , because it's _ridiculous_ , it's _unbelievable_ , it's _infuriating_ , for God's sake, he can mind his own damn self and he doesn't need anyone else and that's who he is, isn't it, someone who is _alone_ , someone who _wants_ to be alone, someone who _doesn't know_ how to be anything _but_ alone, and it's not right and it's not fair for _Cloud Guy's parents,_ of all people, to just come crashing into his life and make him think any different.

"And!" Cloud Guy sits up, too, and jabs a finger, hard, into Branch's chest. "You. _Like_. It."

At least he _expects_ the accusation this time—without the sting of shock and humiliation it initially carried, he's able to put up a half-decent defense. He even manages a proper scoff now, and he smacks Cloud Guy's hand away. " _No_. I _don't_."

Cloud Guy has the nerve to laugh. "Pretty nice fib, puffalo rib, but you can't hide nothin' from me. Just do yourself a favor, and don't ever, _ever_ let Mom in on it. She already thinks you're lonely, has a good cry 'bout you every time she comes over."

Branch stops dead. _"What?"_

"Uh-huh. Yeah." Cloud Guy flops back on the bed again, arms clasped comfortably behind his head. "Practically had _kittens_ about you when I told her you've been down here since you were twelve. Thought it was best not to mention the whys and hows after that."

"I—" Branch can't even _speak_ for the sheer mortification of this moment, his mouth working furiously as he struggles to find the words. Oh, God, _Cloud Guy's mother_ feels _bad_ for him. He _literally_ cannot think of anything worse. Death would honestly be kinder.

"She'd—" Cloud Guy breaks off to let out a low chuckle. "She'd probably _adopt_ _you_ if I did."

Yeah. Okay. _No_. Branch shuts his mouth. There really is absolutely nothing to say to that.

"Anywhoozle," Cloud Guy pushes himself back up, and rolls right off the side of the bed—Branch waits for the telltale thump of his body hitting the floor, and hopes it really, really hurts, but it never comes—he tucks up his legs and catches himself an inch from the ground, floating up to the ceiling. "You want my advice?"

"Uh—" Branch's brain finally decides to work again, grinding back into gear. "No. Not in the slightest."

Cloud Guy laughs again. " _There's_ the sauce I've been missing. As I was sayin', just try to look a little less lost-boy 'round Mom, 'kay? She'll lay off eventually. _Although_ ," he pauses, like he's just singlehandedly had the world's greatest idea, "now that I think of it, well," he shrugs, and floats toward the door, extending an arm to slide the heavy metal bolt back. He flicks the door open, and tosses one last glance at Branch over his shoulder, "better you than me."

* * *

 **A/N: y'all should know this bitch had the working title "shameless self-indulgent garbage" b/c there is literally no point to this except Cloud Guy's mom just,,,,,,, quietly adopted Branch in S5 and that is,,,,,,,,,,, Objectively Beautiful. tbh.**


End file.
